


The Ritual Begins

by Maksvell



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Dom Stan Pines, Dom/sub Undertones, Drug Use, Gay Sex, M/M, Punk!Rick Sanchez, Sub Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 18:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17872598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maksvell/pseuds/Maksvell
Summary: Stan meets up with some skinny punk in Vegas, hijinx insue.





	The Ritual Begins

Stanley Pines hadn’t been in the game for very long. He started out as some nobody grifter moving from town to town across North America, armed only with a few sets of clothes, and an El Diablo convertible that had a tendency to break down whenever he needed it the most. He found himself a parking lot somewhere in Las Vegas, specifically in the parking lot of the Mint Hotel, when he was woken up by a very disturbed looking bellhop who had the physique of a linebacker and the temperance of a bull. He looked as though he was either going to call the fucking cops immediately or tear Stanley out of his car and beat his ass if he didn’t peel out of the parking lot immediately.

“SIR,” he started off sternly, a massive fucking vein in his forehead pulsed wildly and threatened to burst like an overloaded gardening hose, “I’m going to need you to-”

The bruiser was quickly cut off before he could say anything else, Stan couldn’t see all of him at first, but it wasn’t like it mattered, all he saw was a pale hand on the guy’s shoulder and heard a creaky voice that was also painfully sophomoric in its tone, “H-hey, lay off man, he, he’s one of my roadies, d-dumb sonofabitch got lost following my motorcade if you can believe it, y-you go do your job before I report you to the manager.”

The brute let out an annoyed sigh and jogged off, revealing a skinny, pale-skinned latino fella in a pair of painted on black jeans, a belt that was covered in little silver studs with a spiked skull buckle, on his upper torso was a black tank top with the words, “Cyanide and Preacher” written in massive white childish scrawl, and just above his neckline he had a little skull pendant. Then there was the guy’s hair, it was a confusing mess of wild blue-grey locks that stuck out at incomparable angles. But the most astounding thing of all was they guy’s eyes, they were a deep hazel colour, but the irises were-they were pointed, like a star.

“Jesus, thanks for the help there, pal. I thought the bastard was going to tear me in half.”

“T-think nothing of it,” The skinny punk dug a cigarette from his back pocket, and Stan silently wondered how he got into jeans that tight, and how he could get them off. He lit the cigarette and offered one to Stan who politely refused the offering, “So, wha-what brings you out to Nevada, palooka? A guy like you, ya-you look like you’ll fry like up like an egg out here.”

“Look who's talking, pasty.”

The punk only laughed in response, “Hehe, bite. I like that, ra-real groovy. I-I think that I’ve decided that you’re n-not a complete square. Since I single-handedly s-saved your ass why don’t you walk with me for a bit, I need some muscle to intimidate some of my a-adoring public.”

“What the hell are ya talking about?”

“Y’know fans? What? Don’t recognize me?”

“Na, and if you’re a singer or somethin’, I gotta say that I only listen to good music.”

“Ooh damn, t-that’s a low blow.”

Stan chuckled, “Well, pa always did say that fighting dirty was a good way to get ahead.”

“Daddy sounds like, like a real charmer,” the punk extend a hand to Stan as he climbed out of his car, “Name’s Rick Sanchez, and I’m the the guitarist for Killin’ Roaches.”

“Neat, I’m Stanley Pines and I gotta ask, will there be booze where we’re going?”

Rick gazed at him with an incredulous look, the kind of look you see when you ask a very stupid question, before busting out laughing, “Holy mother of god, t-there will be more liquor than you can shake a fat cock at.”

 

Rick’s hotel room was a penthouse suite at the top of the Mint Hotel, the moment Stan set foot in it felt as though he was entering the elaborate pleasure chamber of a Sultan. The room was an absolute fucking mess, couches were torn apart and piled into a corner, presumably for a future pyre, and there were endless tables piled with mountains of booze, coke, amphetamines, and oddly enough just a big pile of cane sugar. There was only one guy at it though, a five-hundred pound Hispanic gentleman wore a suit with a pattern of white skulls on the back and a crazed look in his eyes, but all that he could say was, “Sugar.” 

In addition the pleasure of the tongue, there was also a massive, somewhat sporadic orgy going on. Men, women, and even some people that Stan couldn’t really categorize were just fucking like crazed animals on broken antique furniture, in random parts of the hotel room, just peppered in places where people weren’t binge drinking or conversing.

“What the hell is this place, Rick?”

“A fuckin’ dream, buddy,” said Rick as he licked his lips.

“This is just…it’s kinda intimidating.”

“Well then, don’t, don’t worry your pretty little head too much about it,” Said Rick as he immediately stripped naked, which Stan found to be rather odd as his clothes were so fucking tight against his pale flesh.

Rick then slowly turned to face him, his eyelids half closed as his eyes locked with Stan’s.

“W-wanna come join me?” he said biting his lip as he eyed the sizable protrusion in Stan’s loose fitting jeans.

Stan didn’t have to say a single thing, Rick only took him by the hand and lead him to a large, stain covered white couch, sitting Stan down, before straddling his lap. He cupped Stan’s gristly face in his hands, enjoying the rough feeling of his facial hair against his palms. It was then that Stan noticed how large, and horse-like Rick’s cock was. He quietly hoped that he wouldn’t have to take it, that fucking monster would wreck him. Rick smiled and their teeth crashed together as they kissed.  
Rick moved his hands away from Stan’s face, the left one was used to rub against Stan’s cock to make him a little harder, while the right unzipped his jeans and manoeuvred his cock free from the unholy bondage of denim.

Stan’s body shuddered as he felt Rick’s long fingers wrap around his cock.

“E-easy, man.”

“Don’t, don’t you worry baby. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

Rick moved rapidly like he had the agility of a cat. He stopped and positioned his skinny body in between Stan’s thighs as he worked the shaft of Stan’s cock, stroking it whilst making a soft, semi-twist manoeuvre. Rick licked his lips before he wrapped them around the head of Stan’s penis.

“Oh my god!”

Rick immediately slid his lips off Stan’s throbbing member, “Hehehe, J-Jesus man. Take it easy.”

Rick forced the bulk of the cock into his mouth, the tip of the penis rubbing against the back of his throat. Stan gripped Rick’s hair as he took his cock like a good punk slut.

Rick slid off the cock again and straddled Stan’s lap once again, a very disappointed Stan looked up at him. “What the hell? How could you blue ball a guy like this?”

Rick only began to bite and kiss at Stan’s neck as he lifted himself up slightly, with his left hand he held Stan’s rock-like member in place as he lowered his skinny ass onto it. He pulled away from Stan’s neck and grabbed hold of his shoulders before bouncing up and down rapidly, forcing a mixture of slightly pained moans and laughter from his throat, while Stan wailed in ecstasy.

Within moment’s Rick sprayed a thick rope of cum onto Stan’s chest before laughing as he crawled off. “Hey, what the hell?”

Stan got up to see where Rick had gone only to see him bent over the arm of the couch, a smile on his face. Stan knew what this meant, he exchanged a smile with Rick and walked behind him, his heavy circumcised cock swinging back and forth in the cold penthouse. He grabbed the back of Rick’s head, causing Rick to let out a mild scream.

“Fuck, is, is tha-that the best you’ve got? Pull harder you sonofabitch!”

Stan smiled evilly as he forced his cock into Rick’s asshole, his hand still on a patch of hair on the back of Rick’s head. Within a single action, Rick was moaning in ecstasy and pain as Stan accidentally tore a massive patch of hair from the back of his head.

“Oh shit,” he whispered as he rapidly pounded the punker’s asshole.

“D-don’t worry about it, just fuck me!”

Stan slammed his ass harder, and harder with each thrust, sending waves of delight throughout Rick’s skinny, oddly twig-like body. It took eight long, hard thrusts but, eventually, cum flooded Rick’s tight little asshole.

The two men collapsed next to the couch moments later, their bodies slick with each others semen as they cuddled close together, allowing the pleasantly chaotic atmosphere of the party to wash over them like a mighty wave over a sandy beach.


End file.
